Fairy-Lights
by HybridDragoness
Summary: Jack decides he really likes the way Feliks's eyes glimmer under the warm lights. [Human Names] [Rated T for swearing and drinking]


**Author's Note: **Dedicated to my dear Hetalia friend who puts up with my incessant shrieking and shit-posting and has supported me through my near decade long writer's block; bless you. And also to my dear school friend who was there when Polaria (Poland x Australia) was conceived via a Random Number Generated Hell of a Role-Play. The irony is that, that role-play was basically like a parody version of what's down here.  
This fic is also steeped in a lot of Australian-isms, so uuh... Enjoy?

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Jack had forgotten what the party was for about eight beers ago, but several of their peers were there – so it was something vaguely official – and they were all having a good time and managing to only slightly make a mess of the rented function room.

There were groups of people sitting at a few of the several round tables, chatting, drinking, laughing. Others were dancing to the music that someone had turned up after promptly relieving the DJ of his duty. There were warm candles at each of the tables and strings upon strings of fairy lights dangling from the walls and ceiling.

Jack could handle a crowd, he could also handle a lot of alcohol, but right now the room was feeling too claustrophobic for his tastes, and he opted to sit himself against the railings of the balcony that rimmed the back corner of the function space. The city air wasn't exactly fresh – but it was fresher and more pleasant to be in, especially since he wasn't wall-flowering alone.

Feliks was leaning on the rails beside him, talking away as he always did – a little less animatedly now, though, as they gaze back in at the throng of the party. They often met like this nowadays, in-between meetings and 'official' parties. Once Feliks had grown bored of the conversation, he'd lull his way towards Jack where they'd talk until either the sun came up or they both passed out. It was nice, and it was their thing.

For sure, Jack could talk the ears off all his neighbours 'til dawn whether they liked it or not, but when it came to this quirky blond from the northern half the world, it was truly something else – something different and special.

He's looking at Feliks as he talks, and Jack decides really likes the way the hundreds of warm fairy lights glimmer in his eyes. They're so brilliantly green, he wonders if they've always been like that or if he's only just now seeing them properly. He knows he's staring past the point of it being acceptable, but he can't tear himself away as Feliks casually and elegantly tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear and laughs softly about something to do with the inane music.

And _oh Christ_, Jack feels his heart seize as Feliks looks over, still talking. He needs to feed back some kind of intellectual response - he needs to show he was definitely listening and not spacing out like a lovestruck teenager that's just noticed girls aren't just weird creatures with cooties. He wants to die because all that leaves his lips is a lame "Yeah," and Feliks quirks his brows in a subtle and wordless 'what the fuck?'

Jack knew he was lost.

If it weren't a sacred place, he would've dug himself a bunker underneath Uluru and bolted himself behind a hundred corrugated doors by now. His heart would not cease its furious, frantic pace. He prays that Feliks cannot see each beat that pulses up his jugular.

"How are you that drunk already?" Feliks asks disbelievingly. He shakes his head and his hair moves mesmerisingly. "I thought you were like, the party animal here."

"Haha, yeah, well, I uh..." Oh God he needs to get away before he either gives himself an embarrassment induced heart attack or has Feliks realise that he's not quite the brightest of the southern hemisphere bunch. But why did that matter, Jack wonders briefly. When did Feliks's opinion of him suddenly become so very important? These questions were far too convoluted to be unravelled in his state of drunkenness, but nevertheless his feet betray his desire to abort mission, and he stays rooted to the spot, grinning daftly and sweating slightly.

"Whoa, you okay Jack?" The playfulness in Feliks's voice is gone now and those wonderful eyes are full of such concern Jack definitely feels closer to a heart attack now. "Want me to get you some water? You're not looking so hot. Well, actually, you're looking very hot – you're sweating. Are you sick?"

Jack's brain has long checked out and left the room keys at the reception of Hotel Consciousness. He just sees Feliks fretting and can only hear the steady and rapid beats in his ears.

'I'm just fine, you're the one who's looking hot and I've just noticed that fantastic detail at the worst possible time; I've never felt this way so I have no idea how to cope with this, other than to go and down another six bottles of Boags and hope I pass out before I say or do anything I'll regret,' he thinks in such a hurry it's like he's fast-forwarded the credits of a tv show he's been weekend binging.

Feliks's brows slowly raise.

"Um." There's a smile tugging its way across the blond's lips and he half giggles but is standing there equally as paralysed as Jack. It's a solid and awful three seconds before realisation slams into him like a fully loaded semi-trailer that he's verbally vomited every word of his panicked thoughts right to the Pole's face.

Jack is redder than a beet and is halfway through his mental escape plan to grab his ute and swag and drive off to Cooladdi to drop off the radar for a few years. Feliks makes a noise, and it's an airy, tear-filled wail of a laugh that Jack isn't sure whether to feel more embarrassment or relief over. He is crying in his fit of chuckles and leans forward to steady himself, clutching to Jack's garish yellow-orange party shirt like it's a lifeline.

Somewhere amidst the laughter, Feliks is speaking in his native tongue and Jack is amazed at how many swears he can recognise in the strings of chuckle punctuated sentences. His forehead presses hard against Jack's chest he's absolutely sure his heart is audible over the party's heavy bass.

Then slowly, Feliks tilts is head up to look at Jack who is still redder than he was when he had the worst sunburn of his life - and smiles.

"Well?" He says in an expectant but quiet tone. Jack doesn't know what to say but a rhetorical, "Well what?" and Feliks is giggling again, slumping his forehead back down to Jack's chest. He feels another pinch to his gut because he's been ignoring Feliks's words yet again in his stupor.

"You're the worst," and Jack is about to wholeheartedly agree when Feliks's lips press to his own and seal away any of the words that were about to come. There's a rubber-band snap of a second where Jack is acutely aware that they're fully visible and in the presence of their peers, but the awareness is swiftly washed away by the wave of Feliks's closeness; breath, warmth, scent and all. He feels bad that Feliks is having to stand on the tips of his toes to even reach Jack's face, so he tries to make up in a belated apology by leaning down a little and wrapping his arms around the blond's back to lift his weight just the slightest.

They can hear some people hooting at them from the rest of the party, but neither of them cares. They're adequately drunk on goon and cheap beer, and on each other that they didn't really have much room to consider anything else around them. When they finally pull away, they don't pull back very far. Their noses are still brushing together, and Jack can almost count the number of lights dancing in Feliks's forest green irises. He thinks briefly about investing in some fairy lights of his own, if only to relive this moment – which would mean inviting Feliks around to his place. Would he even want to come around? Jack realises he's making far too many assumptions from a single inebriated and likely poorly thought out action that his confidence wilts somewhat.

But Feliks leans back in a second time, and a third, and with every subsequent caress of their lips, that doubt begins to clear like a morning fog under the warming sun. Jack is certain now a trip to Bunnings is on the cards before he asks Feliks to come over. If anyone asks, he'll excuse it as early Christmas lights preparation, or something – but he wants to recapture this moment, like a succession of old polaroids; and it would be theirs forever more.

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**Thank you for reading...**  
These two are my crackship lifeboat, and it was about time I did something for them after so long. If you too have been inflicted by the flesh rotting disease that is Polaria, please let me know - maybe I'll make more content for you. Long live rare-pairs!


End file.
